


To What Do We Owe Life

by Transistance



Series: Each Disquieting Instance [2]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: AI Angst, Androids, Artificial Intelligence, F/M, Grim Reapers, Science Experiments, Shinigami, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-10 20:02:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4405589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Transistance/pseuds/Transistance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On her way to work one morning, Grell finds herself confronted with an offer that she cannot refuse; take a living, breathing replica of William into her care, no strings attached. It's an AI, with no experience of the world and no other desire than to keep her happy - what could possibly go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Life rewards those who dawdle, perhaps

“Grell Sutcliff!” a voice hissed, the summons accosting her on her way to work. “Dear me, you took your sweet time.”

Grell turned. She was late, yes; she knew she was late. But it was a nice day so she had decided to walk to work instead of jump as she usually did, loitered a little, stopped to smell the metaphorical roses... And now, barely five minutes out of her tiny apartment somebody was trying to inconspicuously get her attention. But there was nobody on the road behind her, nor ahead.

“Ye-es? Who's speaking?”

“In the alleyway.”

Alleyway? What all- That alleyway. There. Grell narrowed her eyes and took a step forward, and then another. Had she been mortal-side, she would have expected an ambush – but nobody got ambushed in the reaper realm. Everybody was too busy doing paperwork. Or loitering on the road in an attempt to procrastinate getting to work to do paperwork.

Plus, she was an infamous and scary dispatch agent with a chainsaw, and people generally avoided messing with her. She turned in the mouth of the alley, and stopped.

“Mary!” she said, rather surprised to be faced with a small, dark haired woman – one of the infrequently seen members of the Technical Maintenance department. “Or... Molly. Or... Monica? I do know your name, sorry, give me a minute...”

“Megan. Megan Keanes.” The woman smiled. “Sorry to bother you on your way to work – well, I say that, but it's 10:30! Really, why you chose today of all days to be tardy...”

Grell blinked. “I'm always tardy,” she informed the other woman. “I usually jump to work, though. The only reason I didn't today is because it's sunny, and – well, you know how rare that is.”

They shared an insincere laugh – compulsory to accompany jokes about British weather, regardless of whether in the mortal realm or the reapers' – and Grell turned back to business. “I hate to rush you, I really do – you've no idea how much I don't want to go to work, I'm on desk duty until _four_ – but I really shouldn't dawdle much more than I already have. What do you want from me?”

A slight misgiving seemed to pass across Keanes' face, but she answered without hesitation. “I have a... thing. Left over from some research I was doing. And I thought, given your history of using left overs of a... well, shall we say discrete? origin, I thought this might interest you.”

The prospect did at least that, and Grell perked up immediately. “Oh?” she said, work forgotten. It was very much true that she had acquired used parts for various unscrupulous things over the years, usually at fair price and debatable legality. “What is it? Scythe parts? Medical papers? Re-”

A finger held to the other woman's lips compelled her to silence, and Keanes smiled before raising her eyebrows and calling quietly, “You-eight-eight-oh-one, come here.”

There was a movement behind her; a figure emerged from the indent of one of the few doors lining the street, and walked closer. It was rather tall and distinctly male, and Grell raised her own eyebrows. “My my,” she breathed. “Who do we have here?”

“Don't be alarmed,” Keanes added, as though a thought had struck her. “He's harmless.”

“I am not alarmed.” Curious, perhaps. He didn't seem to be carrying anything – was he some sort of bodyguard? Why would a lady like Keanes need a-?

The light hit him and Grell felt her jaw drop. It wasn't the suit, or the tie, or the glasses, or the hair – not the way he stood or the way he screwed his eyes up in the sudden exposure to the sun and blinked several times. It wasn't the casual familiarity of the way he stood and looked at her.

This man was William.

* * *

After the initial mess of hysterics – not that she would admit to having hysterics over being presented with some sort of being that resembled perfectly her boss and love, no, she took it calmly and definitely did not have to be grabbed by Megan Keanes and spoken to softly and urgently for several solid minutes before she could calm down to full coherency – Keanes tried to explain it to her. “I'm sorry!” she said first, which was no help whatsoever and only furthered Grell's panic. “I'm working in biotechnology, and I needed an individual to base it on – your superior seemed a fair choice. He's not real. Please be quiet! Someone will hear you!! Please, Ms Sutcliff, you need to stop screaming. I can't make out a word of what you're saying. It's okay. He's a _machine_. _Why_ are you screaming?? I'm sure you've seen odder things than this! This isn't even a real person, Grell, I told you, I just needed a visual replica; you're overreacting! Please! Be! _Quiet_!!”

Eventually she resorted to clapping a hand over Grell's mouth, and Grell allowed it to stay there whilst she tried to calm herself down. That was _William_. That was _her_ William. And yet it wasn't. That much was obvious – he stood unmoving as she flipped her lid, and the dispassion in his gaze was clearly due to a complete unawareness of his surroundings than a lack of interest in what was going on. Every once in a while he blinked, slowly, his eyes focused on some distant scene.

It was horrifying.

She bit down on the fingers in front of her mouth once she had regained some semblance of control over her own throat, and allowed questions to cascade from her now uninhibited lips. “What is he? How did you make him? Is he sentient? Is he conscious? Does he have a soul? How did you make him so- so real? Why did you make him like this? Why were you making this in the first place? Why did you-”

“One thing at a time, please!” Keanes was beginning to look worried again, but laughed it off. “Please. You're tying yourself in knots here! I told you, I'm working in biotechnology – trying to create mechanics that resemble living tissues as closely as possible. But not only that.” She leaned closer conspiratorially and lowered her voice to breathe, as though imparting a great secret, “Also _artificial intelligence_.”

Grell gave her a sidelong glance, and then her eyes flicked back to the thing looming behind her, completely passive. “Artificial intelligence? You mean it can think?”

“Not yet. He's running on standby.” She clicked her fingers in front of the man's eyes, once, twice, to prove it. “See? Doesn't even react. He's a learning AI – so once he does wake up, he'll change the more he encounters things. He's got basic programming intact, and I attempted to match Spears' personality in the least damaging way possible. He's got quite extensive speech and understanding, although some less definable concepts may give him a bit of trouble. And a basic understanding of what he is and what we are. It should be enough. I, ah...” she bit her lip, glanced away. “I actually took the liberty of programming a few... Well, personal things into him. Vocal recognition, that sort of thing.”

Odder and odder. Grell had never come across something like this before – for all intents and purposes this kind of technology was years ahead of its time, even for reapers. “To your voice?”

“Well, yes, but also to yours.” She caught Grell's expression and hurried to justify herself. “There was no reason not to! Let's be honest, Grell, even if you weren't the only one who'd be interested in this sort of thing – especially with him looking like _him_ – you’re one of the only people I'd trust not to rat me out on this.”

“Why? You barely know me.”

She gave her a quizzical look. “Well, you've taken things like this before, or so I've heard – not on this scale, right enough, but still things that are frowned upon enough to get you into more bother than they're worth. And I don't think you would. You seem the sort to _enjoy_ things like this, rather than hand them over to people who'd shut them away somewhere.”

“....Hm.” Her words were slightly too hurried, slightly too honeyed. “Why're you so keen on getting rid of him?”

“Oh, I'm not!” Keanes beamed, and to Grell's surprise she seemed genuine. She reached up to pat her creation's head, and explained, “No, I don't want rid of him. I just don't have any use for him – I've done all I can. As I said, he's a left over. Performed all necessary functions for my research. And it seems such a shame to make something that can move, breathe, think and speak, only to sit it alone in a room and rot for the duration of its existence.”

It was hard to disagree with that. “And if I don't take him?”

“I'll take him apart for scrap. New parts are obviously far more desirable than old, but I'm willing to bet that there's enough salvageable there to be worth it. Oh, don't look at me like that – I told you, he's not alive.”

“But you said he can _think_.”

She shrugged. “To a point. But that's because he's programmed to think. If an item is programmed to feel, is it really feeling? Or does it just appear to be feeling?” She shrugged again. “I made him. And if it's all the same to you, I'll have no problem unmaking him.”

“...No. No, don't do that.” Grell's eyes strayed again and she moved closer to the... what was he, an android? Robot? Either way, he didn't look like one. He looked like any normal reaper – looked like Will. “You say he's in an unconscious mode right now?”

He was breathing. She watched his chest expand and contract, and wondered why an android had to be made to breathe.

“Yes. He'll reactivate if someone says his base's given name. He'll answer to that or U8801. Although I'd recommend you didn't wake him here.”

“Oh? And why not?” Grell jumped on this insecurity like a cat, and attempted to startle the truth out of the technician. “Want to be far away when he gets animate, do you? Why? Is he violent? Compulsive? Confused?”

Keanes raised two soothing hands in a gesture of surrender and said, “No, no, nothing like that. If anything he'll just be a bit lost at first. He'll have no memories of anything before you wake him up – I wiped his memory. Couldn't have my research threatened by some slip of the tongue. So, he won't remember me at all.” A flicker of regret passed over her face, and she mused, “It's a hardship, being a mother – I'm sure you'll understand that one day. He'll know you, though. You're the only one I've set him to recognise. I was more thinking it'd not be prudent for him to be seen out here – if somebody discovered him, found out that he wasn't who he looks like... Well. I'm sure you can imagine the awkward questions that would arise in that situation – for you and for me.”

Grell blinked. She supposed it was true – and at this hour there would still be people out and about; skivers like herself, errand runners passing the morning messages that couldn't be send through post or phone. “What do you suggest I do, then?”

“Well, take him back to wherever you live, I suppose. Jump there, if you can pair-jump this early in the morning.”

“Why wouldn't I be able to... Oh. Right.” She remembered the physical differences between male and female bodies – it was likely that this poor woman had no idea how jumping differed between them. She wasn't a medic. “Yes, I could do that. I take it he can't? Jump, that is?”

The shaken head was confirmation enough. “I bypassed most of the systems unnecessary for the most basic life. He doesn't need to eat or excrete; needs very little sleep. Doesn't have taste buds, or an olfactory system, or pain receptors. I’ve no idea if he can function sexually or not. He's more of an it than you are.”

“Rude!” Grell attempted to pout and look disdainful at the same time, and muttered “You were doing so well up to that point.” She stalked around the android, hesitated, then lightly touched his shoulder. He felt real enough. “And he is..?”

“Anatomically estimated only, but given that neither of us – as far as I know – have ever seen Spears in any state of undress I doubt it'll matter much.”

Grell hesitated, frowning slightly as she considered him again. “You didn't base him on Will for no reason.”

It was a statement, not a question, and after a moment Megan bowed her head in acknowledgement of it. “...Alright. No, you're right. I based him on Spears because, as I said, I knew you're my only chance of getting rid of him safely. I knew that right from the start. But I knew you'd take him anyway, regardless of who he looked like – so I figured, why not make him someone you'd like? I... I think you receive enough hardships at work – not least from _him_ – to deserve this small kindness.”

Again, the words seemed slightly too kind, slightly dishonest. _Like hell would some random tech whose I've barely spoken two words to decide to help me in any way_ , Grell thought suddenly. _Like hell would anyone pity me._

“...Okay. And what exactly are you suggesting I do with him?”

“Anything aside from letting him loose. As I said, all press is bad press in this case. But really, mother him or bewhore him - I don't care. I'm sure you'll take fine care of him either way.”

_She does want rid of him_. But whether from a predisposition towards not destroying her own creation or a less innocent reason Grell couldn't be sure. The only thing she could be sure of was that Ms Megan Keanes was right – she would neither abandon this... was _creature_ a fitting word? nor tell anyone about him.

And so he became hers.


	2. A different kind of birth

Getting home was no problem; she hadn't jumped since returning from work last night, so there were no issues on that account. She left the android – U8801, might as well address him like that for now – standing motionlessly in her corridor, and went to phone the office. She couldn't go into work today, not now. There were possibilities to explore.

“No, I'm ill,” she explained patiently to the secretary who picked up. “Very ill. So ill. A sudden case of the horrible and contaminating ick.” She gave a rattling fake cough in an attempt to back this up, and then in answer to the resulting question added, “No, no, don't worry, don't send someone round. I'll be just fine. Tell Will I'll be back tomorrow almost certainly, and that he's not to fret over my absence. Give them all my love – ta!”

That secretary in particular had always disliked her, but she really had no reason to get on at Grell for not turning up to work. It was very rare for her not to attend, even if she was so often late. If she happened to take a day off due to unexpected circumstances then that was none of anyone else's business. It wasn't a busy season – late spring, usually the time of the least deaths in the year, and this season had not yet broken that trend – so the likelihood that she'd be called up about her absence was very low. 

Perfect.

Grell returned to her hallway to find the android exactly where she had left him, exactly how she had left him. U8801 blinked reflexively.

He did look remarkably like Will – terribly like Will. How could anyone without an exact model to work from ensure that her machine matched its base so perfectly in stature, in form – from the subtle lines on his face to the parting of his hair, she wouldn't have known the difference between the two had the robot not been so still. His suit looked generic, his glasses authentic; so much so that she half expected the being to turn suddenly and berate her for not being at the office.

It was time to revive him.

Reaching up to stroke his cheek, she found his skin cold to the touch. Would his personality be the same? Arrogant, aloof, disinterested? Would he even have a personality this early on, or only base reactions to the things around him? She removed her hand slowly, closed her eyes, and said, as loudly as she dared, “...William T Spears.”

The change in the room was as subtle as it was immediate. She opened her eyes to find another pair looking back at her questioningly, as green and familiar as her own.

One hand opened and closed, and she half heard a very quiet murmur of, “Motor and vocal functions satisfactory.” And then he blinked.

“Where am I? Who are you?” U8801 frowned at her, the slightest of imperfections creasing his brow, and answered himself. “You are Grell Sutcliff. Grell Sutcliff.”

“...Yes. That I am.”

His voice was a monotone, devoid of inflection or emotion; almost like William's own. The only clear difference was the lack of disdain present in U8801's. “What do you want from me, Grell Sutcliff?”

Words that had come from Will's mouth so often they were almost a mantra – but lacking the sighs, the resignation, the irritation. From the voice of the robot it was a question without any hidden implications – an honest query - and she found herself unsure.

“Do you know... I don't know yet. I need more time.” She looked at him keenly. “What is your name?”

“I am U8801. But I believe my given name is William.”

“What would you prefer I call you?”

“I have no preference.” He shrugged – the first proper movement he'd made so far. “You may call me whatever you wish, Grell Sutcliff.”

“Alright... Will, then. That'll be easiest – you look so like him.”

“Like who?”

It was her turn to frown, and she realized he had no idea of exactly how much he knew. “Well... Like William. My... friend. The one whose features you were built around.” She bit her lip, paused. “How much do you know? About... yourself?”

U8801's gaze became suddenly and worryingly slack, and he stared off into space to answer. “I know I am not like you. I am perhaps unique. I am a living machine; a living, breathing machine, given vestiges of thought by... someone.” The hole in his memory appeared to to cause him some concern, because his gaze left whatever astral plane it was focused on and turned to her own. “I... don't know who. Was it you? Are you the creator of this unit? I have no memory. I am. Why am I?”

 _I was not warned about this._ Emotional confusion Grell could deal with. Preferential confusion Grell could deal with. Existential confusion, coming from an individual who had no business even expelling fully formed thought from mouth or mind, she could not. Clearly U8801 needed gentle guidance into the world of the not-quite-living, and clearly she was the only one on hand to give it.

“No,” she started, as kindly as she could. “No, I'm not your... creator. That's a young lady by the name of Megan. She... couldn't take care of you, so she gave you to me to look after. I don't know why she made you.”

He blinked, accepted it, and then said unexpectedly, “I am glad of it.”

Grell tilted her head. “Why?”

“I am... programmed for you, I think. My only given objective that pertains to external individuals names you.”

That sounded ominous more than anything else. “How?”

“'Make Grell Sutcliff happy.'” He blinked again, and bit his lip – which she realized was a direct imitation, conscious or otherwise of her own earlier action. _A learning AI._ “But I have only a rudimentary comprehension of happiness. So you may have to explain things to me.”

 _Why would anyone program that into an AI? Why on earth would you programme an AI to attempt to pass on something it doesn’t understand to an individual you've never met?_ Megan Keanes was clearly an idiot or manipulating some obscure plan, and Grell didn't like it either way. 

That wasn't the AI's fault, though.

“So you... You exist to make me happy? Surely there's more to your life than that. There must be.”

He shrugged, shook his head again. “There does not appear to be.”

“And you... You're okay with that? You don't mind being... only that?”

“I have no concept of existing otherwise. It would appear that I have been created for this purpose, Grell Sutcliff.”

“Grell,” she corrected, almost absent-mindedly. “Just call me Grell.”

He hadn't been created for this purpose – that much was obvious. More likely Keanes had programmed it into him after she had finished whatever experiment she had been conducting, to ensure that he had some drive to exist and not come looking for her. It seemed to have worked.

“So you just want me to be happy?”

“I believe so.”

There was no hint of untruth in his voice – but then again, there was no hint of anything in his voice. No tone, no feeling behind his words. Was he really alive? Or was he just a cleverly constructed mimicry of a man; a machine that could generate answers and movements with no consciousness involved? The thoughts made her frown. _'I'm sure you've seen stranger things than this'._ No, she hadn't.

Perhaps that was a blessing. If he were just a machine – then he was just a body, wasn't he? He looked so much like Will. But even if he didn't... Well. Possibilities, indeed.

“Do you mind if I touch you?” She held out one hand near his face, and without comment he obligingly lowered his cheek to it, and surprise lit his features. 

“You are warm.”

 _And you are cold._ Cold enough that she could feel the chill through her gloves. He didn't need warmth, she supposed – perhaps he even functioned better at lower temperatures. Was that an advantage or a disadvantage? She didn't know.

Stroking his cheek caused him to close his eyes, and she wondered if this meant he was content or shutting down. “Here,” she murmured, hating herself. “Let me try something.”

One hand remained on his face, but she let the other rest on his neck for only a moment before moving it. “What do you feel?”

“Your hand is on my shoulder. Your hand is on my chest. Your hand is on my waist. Your hand is on my hip. Your hand is my groin. Your hand is on my thigh.”

“And that's all the same?”

“Yes.” His eyes flicked open, and he frowned again. “Should it not be? The physical sensation is the same.”

 _Your creator was not a biologist in any way, shape or form and I feel like I've just abused a child._ The situation was only made worse by a misinterpretation on U8801's part - “Do you want me to -”

“No! No, no, nope, don't do that.” She caught his hands before they got anywhere and after a moment's consideration positioned them around her back in a slightly unbalanced hug.

“...I do not understand.”

She sighed. “You and me both, I'm afraid. What is it you want?”

“I want you to be happy.”

“Well, yes. You've said that. But what do you want me to do with you?”

“Whatever would give you cause to be happy.”

Useless. His words were thoughtless, thoughtless, thoughtless; but that, she reminded herself, was still not his fault. He was a learning intelligence – as of yet he'd had nothing to learn from. But she couldn't tell anyone else about him. That would go so wrong, so quickly. No.

“Let's go out!” she exclaimed, the sudden change in tempo unbalancing them both for a moment. U8801 stepped away from her.

“Out?”

“Out. It's all stuffy in here.” 

The android nodded. “Stuffy,” he repeated. “Okay.”


	3. To think in hues

The park was cool and bright and mercifully empty. It had been a while since Grell had been there – taking strolls in the greener areas had never really been her cup of tea, even if she'd more often had the time to do so – but to her relief her unconventional partner appeared to be enjoying it more than she was, if enjoyment were something he could feel.

“It's warm and cold. Why is it warm and cold?”

“The sunlight's warm. The breeze is cool. Both are happening at once.”

The conversation, which had admittedly not been at a particularly high calibre in the first place, had degraded mostly into U8801 making verbal notes about things or asking questions that Grell had never had to answer before due to their nature as things that were usually noticed and accepted at a very young age. It was not bad, as such; merely difficult to stay atop of. _This must be what having a small child is like_ , she supposed. _If children were a head taller than me, physically mature and conventionally attractive._

“Look,” he said suddenly. “Birds.”

Birds they were indeed; a small flock of them, picking their ways carefully about the path ahead. “They're pigeons,” she informed him. “We use them for-”

“I know.” He looked distant, and then confused, and then gave a small nod as though accepting the knowledge. “Do you know, Grell, I know so many things.”

The fresh air was clearly getting to him. “Uh-huh. We all know things, darling. Knowing things is a big part of life.”

“I know,” he repeated, and stopped walking to turn and let his eyes bore into her; lit with an intensity that had no business in the expression of a machine. “But I _know_. I know so many words. So many explanations. Why do I know these? They are unnecessary. Irrelevant. I've never – I don't know what these things _are_ , but I know what they _mean_. Do you... Do you understand that?”

“...No, not really. Give me an example?”

“What is colour?”

Grell looked blankly at him. “What?”

“What is colour? I mean, I know what causes it – a difference in the wavelengths of reflected light on the optical senses – but what... is it?” He spread his arms as if indicating the whole area. “What does it look like?”

“I don't think I understand the question.” She frowned up at him, finding no answers forthwith. “Like... Everything has a colour, right? Except glass and reflective surfaces, but they don't count. It's like... My hair is red, right?”

“Is it? What is red?”

_Damn._ Right. How on earth would one go about explaining colour? “It is. And grass is green, right? Those are two different colours. Can you see the difference between my hair and grass?”

He gave her a long, sidelong glance. “Your hair is proteinous secretions from your scalp. Grass is a plant. Of course there are visual discrepancies.”

“Yes, but what's the most obvious one?”

“Strands of hair are much thinner than blades of grass.”

Her resulting growl of frustration made U8801 look mildly concerned, so she reigned in her temper and resisted the urge to tear out her hair. _Actually, maybe that'd be a good idea._

“Alright. My hair and your hair, strand for strand. Pretend they're the same length. What's the difference?”

“Oh! I see.” He blinked once or twice, and then looked at her again. “Surely you can't have names for them all?”

“All what?”

“All of the colours. They're all different.”

“...What do you mean?”

“I mean, look.” He bent, plucked two blades of grass from the verge, and held them up to her face. “Different.”

They were, very slightly. Less than a shade of discrepancy, but different nonetheless. “...Yeah, you're right. No, we don't have name for them all – we just group them into categories that look the same. So these are both green.”

“...Okay. Green.”

She could tell that he still didn't quite get it – that there was still some exact kernel of knowledge needed to link the idea to full coherency in his mind, and it wasn't one she could give. 

“And colour is... everywhere?”

“...Yeah. Pretty much. Unless you went somewhere that was full of grey things, but I don't...” she shook her head, unsure of what she was trying to say. “Is that not logical? Why wouldn't it be everywhere?”

“I don't know.” He mimicked her gesture, looking lost. “I don't know. I don't know! Because I know what things are but I don't know why, or where they should be, or what they do. I don't know the things that you do, and I should, but I know the things that you don't, that I have no need for. I don't want to _know_ like this! I want to learn things rather than read them from a database; I want to experience things rather than appreciate them as concepts. Do you understand that? _Can_ you understand that??”

He was getting agitated, mouth downturned and gaze almost accusatory as he tried to see if she was on the same wavelength as him at all – which she wasn't. She knew what he was saying, but could no more sympathize with the sentiment than the ocean could with the sky – and her silence seemed to terrify him, throwing the artificial man into a fit of hysterics.

“Please, I don't understand – I just – I don't want to be so different, I don't like this abstraction, _please_ -”

She grabbed his arm instinctively and pulled him close, in some poor parody of comfort. He went silent abruptly, staring at her as though her movement had been entirely unexpected, and she raised her hands to his face and tried to soothe him.

“Shh, shh, shhh... It'll be okay. You'll be okay. You'll get used to everything. You'll be alright, right?”

His face had somehow moved very, very close to hers – drawn by the strange attraction he held for being stroked on the jaw, it seemed – and she could see the subtle differences that had been invisible from afar in his skin. It was completely hairless, smooth in a way that suggested more a soft plastic than anything biological in everything but texture, and pale. Paler than hers, certainly paler than William's. Why was this only notable up close?

It didn't matter. It didn't matter because she could feel his cool, even breaths ghosting on her face and suddenly had to know what they would feel like in her mouth. 

She inched toward him, leaving only millimetres between their faces, and brushed her lips over his cheek before pressing them to his mouth.

His lips were cold. She supposed she should have guessed that. He released no noise expressing disagreement or pleasure, only opened his mouth obligingly to let her claim him in this further way.

He didn't taste of anything. For a second the horrible temptation to bite him crept over her, to see if it was blood or motor oil that filled his veins, but she knew she shouldn't. That would be a needlessly vindictive thing to do, and the only thing he'd learn from it would be cruelty.

It was his tongue that stopped her abruptly. She touched it with her own and found it freezing, lying still in his mouth like a dead thing. The feeling was wordlessly unpleasant and caused her to become suddenly and acutely aware of what she was doing; moving in on a creature who was a virgin in all aspects of life; taking him because he resembled Will – and if he found out about this she'd have hurt him too.

Grell broke away and U8801 looked at her confusedly.

“Kissing,” he said quietly. “To touch or caress with the lips as an expression of affection, greeting or amorousness. Why did you stop?”

_Be careful._ What was that in his eyes? A half formed emotion, a feeling at last? “Why? Were you enjoying it?”

“No, not particularly. But you were.” His mouth twisted down and he looked suddenly forlorn. “Did I do something wrong?”

_Yes, fundamentally._ “No, it's not your fault. I just... can't do this. I'm taking advantage of you.”

This caused him to frown - _stop that, dear, you'll have lines before the day's out_ – and for the first time something other than existential worry did colour his voice.

“You are not taking advantage of me. You are not abusing me in any way. You are using me for what is almost certainly my purpose finally, and you would avoid that for... what? Some misguided notion that I can be wronged?”

“You can be wronged; you'll understand that later -”

He cut her words short with brutal effect by taking her head in his hands and kissing her again, violently and without finesse, and two steps backward found her pressed between a tree and the body of the android, which felt solid and cold and _robotic_. 

The sudden influx of strong physical sensations caused her to let out a whimper of what was embarrassingly obviously delight, and she let herself go. Kissing was much more enjoyable when both parties were participating, although participating may have been an understatement here. The strength of U8801's movements suggested he was aiming to kill her using his tongue alone.

He broke off only when he ran out of breath, and stood back, breathing in-out-in-out quickly and efficiently. The removal of his mouth drew a disagreeable whine from Grell, and she quested after him instinctively before opening her eyes and realizing exactly what she'd done. 

_“...Fuck,”_ she breathed, and stared up at him. _Fix this._ “I... Look, darling, I'll be the first to admit that I love a man who takes control, but you... I'm sorry, you're just really not... my type.”

This was a filthy lie, but he didn't read into it – instead he took an entirely unexpected track. “What does it matter? You _enjoyed_ that. Your affinity for physical attention does not appear to be wholly coordinated with your morality. Does it matter if I'm your ' _type_ ' or not at all?”

“Why do you care? You said you don't have desires.”

“I desire only that you be happy. That seemed to make you happy.”

_He doesn't understand._ The realization made her feel worse again, and she attempted to pull him to a reassuring hug, which might have worked had he not been almost a head taller than her. “No,” she murmured. “No, no, no. There's a difference between being happy and experiencing... pleasure. I mean, in some cases one can provide the other, but not like this.” She patted his back, and hoped he understood at least a little. “Please don't do that again.”

“...I don't understand at all.”

_Of course you don't. You're a machine._ And debatably a child, too. A child trapped in a synthetic shell and thrown out into a dysfunctional existence.

She felt sorry for him.

“Your hair's come down,” she noted quietly in an attempt to reroute the conversation. “It makes you look much younger.” It also made him look slightly less like Will, which was a blessing, but also slightly more vulnerable.

“As far as I am aware, I am less than one day old.”

“You know what I mean.”

He shook his head. “I honestly don't.”

“I just mean... Oh, forget it.” Grell sighed suddenly, feeling wretched at being unable to convey what she meant to this man; this machine. She was supposed to be giving him some experience of life, allowing him to understand it at least as well as she did, and she was failing even that. “...Come on, we should head back. It'll be the break hour soon – people from work might be out and about here.”

U8801 nodded, very mechanically, and she decided to avoid simply jumping him back in case he started questioning the mechanics of that, too, and she wouldn't even be able to begin to answer those. There were far too many enigmas to life and death, and he wouldn't benefit from stumbling on all of them at once. He probably wouldn't benefit from stumbling on any of them ever, come to think of it.

The android was silent as they walked back.

When they passed through the door of her apartment he asked suddenly, “Did I upset you?”

“What? No, of course not. Just caught me by surprise.”

Grell left him in the sitting room whilst she made herself a meagre lunch – she had almost offered him tea before remembering that he probably wasn't even capable of drinking – and once she had eaten it returned through to find U8801 sitting statically on the couch, staring into space.

“You okay?”

“What? Yes, I am fine. Just... thinking.”

She didn't ask about what, instead taking a seat beside him and taking the time to scrutinize him again. The way he was positioned looked uncomfortable; back straight and arms hanging loosely at his sides, as though he didn't know what to do with them. He had a nice jawline, and not for the first time in her life Grell cursed herself for finding people so attractive.

He caught her eye and turned to look at her, the movement far too smooth for a machine but far too regulated for a person. “Can I do anything?”

“What do you mean?”

“Give me something to do, please. That would make you happier than having me just sit here.”

Pursing her lips slightly in thought, Grell tried to come up with something useful he could do. The vast majority of things she would be doing if he had been a generic man visiting her home were out of limits, and it had been a long time since she had actually shared her house with anyone. And even in those scenarios her partner had never relied on her to be told what to do.

She flipped her hair back from her face, and then realized that despite it being unnecessary, it would certainly be a way to pass the time.

“There's a thing you could do – brush my hair? It's... relaxing, for both parties. Hey, you could even braid it if you want.”

“Do you want me to?”

There it was again – the damned recurring question. “Okay, Will, I'm going to tell you something. If I say 'If you want' – it means I definitely do want you to, but before you do so I want you to consider if you can find any problem with doing so; any reasons, however small, why you would have any problem whatsoever with doing so. Okay?”

“...Okay. Show me how to brush your hair and I will do it.”

Grell bade him sit on the floor against the wall, and having positioned herself between his legs lost herself in the repetitive motion of the brush's teeth pulling at her scalp, its movement matching the calm rise and fall of U8801's chest against her back. His breath cooled the back of her neck, reminding her constantly that he was a machine; wasn't alive. But she ignored this, and pretended that the strokes weren't so exact, that this affection wasn't artificial. And for a time it felt like bliss.

A knock at the front door interrupted them.

They both startled at the noise, and Grell stood up quickly. “Stay here - but if you think whoever this is is likely to come in, hide. It's probably just someone round to hound me about work – _god_ , I hope it's not Ronald, he'll stick around for ages to avoid going back to the office – they shouldn't be a problem. Give me a minute.”

Her apartment really wasn't elaborate enough at all for him to hide anywhere if it came to that, so she resolved to simply not let her visitor in, whatever the cost. It probably wasn't anything important, anyway.

This notion fled as soon as she recognised the silhouette of the person through the glass. Oh, _no... What on earth are_ you _doing here?_

She could only pray that this William wasn't another android.


	4. The niceties of living

 

“Hello – _oh_ , Will! My my, what an unexp _ected_ surprise.” This was true, at least. She would never have expected William to come all the way from the office to her home on a mid-day break; especially not when she'd actually given notice of her absence. “Have you finally taken up the offer of lunch, my love?”

He scowled darkly at her, and ignored the greeting. “You aren't ill at all, are you? Trust me, I wouldn't have come if I didn't have to. I phoned you twice earlier, but you didn't pick up, so I tried to get one of the juniors to run a message to you but every single one of them rather vehemently denied knowing where you live. And Knox, who I know knows where you live, happens to be on field duty at the moment.”

She beamed at him, because flashing her teeth always seemed to piss him off (he had never told her explicitly that they were breaking regulations, but she knew he wanted to). “Feeble excuses!” she declared. “Darling, you simply can't _live_ without me, can you? Couldn't face a day without seeing me? How _romantic_.”

“And do come in,” she added, as though it were an afterthought, because she knew he wouldn't.

“No.” Thank goodness for having a superior who was completely predictable. “No, I'm only here to give you a warning and then I'll hopefully never have to darken your garish doorstep again.”

Grell pouted at him. “So rude. For a simple passing on of a message you seem to have managed to stretch this meeting out already – and could it not wait until work tomorrow? What on _earth_ could be so urgent as to drive you from your desk, hm?”

The sudden, horrible feeling that she knew _exactly_ what was so urgent crept over her. That would explain why William himself had come to talk to her, too. Somebody knew. Somebody had found out -

“A batch of cinematic records are missing. We do not know if they've been stolen or destroyed, nor do we know who the individual responsible is. They must be a reaper – and not one of low status, either, to get into the library – but aside from that we know nothing. I'm sure you appreciate the weight of the situation.”

“Mm? Oh, yes. Absolutely, my love, yes.” In truth she'd stopped paying close attention to his words after the first sentence; the relief that it had nothing to do with robots or doppelgängers or anything like that at all was overwhelming, despite the rather worrying nature of the situation that was on hand. “Yes. So is this a warning to say ' _Sutcliff if you took those souls I'll have your head_ ' or ' _Sutcliff watch out for criminals cutting about and if you find anything please report it immediately_ '?”

“A bit of both.” He paused, then continued, “It seemed slightly too much of a coincidence that you decided to skip work today of all days. Why did you feign illness, Grell?”

She blinked. “I just wasn't really feeling the paperwork vibe today. You know how it is. I figured it'd be more productive for the both of us if I wasn't in work today; you know I only distract you when I'm bored. Figured it'd be more fun to have a jaunt about town, mortal-side.”

“That's where you were earlier?”

“Yes. I went shopping.”

“Hm.” He looked at her; looked past her. “Do you have a guest? I thought I heard voices when I arrived.”

_Uh oh._ She tilted her head, feigning complete innocence. “Nope, just me today; all home alone. I do have tendencies to hum, or sing when nobody's around – could it've been that?”

“Perhaps.” William seemed to consider it for a moment, then nodded and met her eyes. “Perhaps. It's a decent excuse either way; I'm sure I could not disprove it. I do believe that you're smart enough not to aid dangerous criminals – but you never know. Be careful, Grell Sutcliff.” He adjusted his glasses, nodded politely and turned on the spot to leave. “And do get well soon.”

She shut the door quietly after him, and wandered back to the living room faintly troubled. He'd _known_ she was lying – he usually did, somehow – but hadn't called her up on it. That presumably meant he thought she was lying about something trivial; probably assumed she had a male caller round. Which was not entirely untrue. But William would never openly accuse her of that – sex always seemed to be a bit of a taboo subject with him, no matter in what context; hence why he'd said what he had to say and then left. Or possibly he'd correctly assumed that whomever was in the house could hear exactly what he was saying and so had left the warning light.

Strange man.

Upon arriving back in the room, she found U8801 still sitting where she'd left him, holding his glasses out to face him and examining them. “What's up, Will?”

“Why do you call me Will?”

There was no curiosity behind his questions, she realized suddenly – he didn't ask them because he wanted to know the answer. Perhaps he asked them under the assumption that the answers would help him understand the world better, instead of simply causing the knowledge to fractal off into a thousand further unanswerable queries. Perhaps that was how he learned.

“Will's your name, isn't it?” She looked down at him, disquieted by his reversal into apparent apathy. No expression lingered on his face, and he bounced the glasses idly with one hand.

“I suppose so. But he's Will. I cannot be Will also. We're separate entities.”

“No, but you can have the same name – lots of people have the same name. Lots of people are called William.”

“But I'm called William _because_ he is called William.”

“...Yes, that's true.” She crossed the room and folded her legs down to curl up beside him, leaning lightly against his shoulder. As if physical comfort helped. “Does it bother you? Do you want to be called something else?”

“...No, not particularly. I do not mind.” He turned his head away from her, disinterested gaze now fixed upon the wall. “You trill when you talk to him. Like a songbird.”

“You don't know what a songbird is.”

He nodded, but disagreed anyway. “I would assume it to be a bird that sings.”

“...Well, you're not wrong.”

“Does he make you happy?”

Warnings began to flash in her mind. “...Sometimes. He's never exactly kind to me, but I love him.”

“You love him,” the robot repeated blankly. “Explain that?”

The request stumped her. “I... Give me a minute.” She had never been asked to explain the concept of love before. Sure, she could often be found giving grand spiels on the topic, proclamations of her feelings to whomever happened to take her fancy, but those were baited. Those were a show, an act. For this she had to be honest.

“Well, I... I find him very attractive, for one thing. I think he's beautiful and haughty and strong, and I want to be close to him, physically or otherwise. I want to... touch him, hold him close against me, but more than that I want him to do the same to me. I want to be someone he trusts, someone he cares for, someone he pays attention to... I want to matter as much to him as he matters to me.” Grell trailed off, slightly abashed by her own sincerity, and hoped that U8801 understood her.

A slight smile touched the android's face, and he muttered, “So I am your type, physically,” very quietly. That accepted, he raised his eyes and spoke again.

“I... have come to a conclusion.”

“Oh? On what?”

“Myself.”

“R _ea_ lly?” It shouldn't have come as so much of a shock, she supposed; he was bound to get his head together at some point. Had his intelligence finally come up with a solid solution to the current problems? She certainly hoped so. Not that it was his job to do that (it was hers, definitely) but it would certainly be a relief. “That's wonderful, dear!”

“Quite. Unfortunately, to meet it, I must make a request of you.”

“Of course. Anything.”

“Kill me.”

“...”

“Please.”

_No no no no no no no no no._ This was all wrong. _Why would he want that?? Why on earth would he ask for that?_ The irony did not escape her – both that he was asking a death god for release from life and that she was reluctant to give it. She was, in fact, now wholly at a loss; she found herself at odds with everything she'd ever been.

Grell Sutcliff loved death. That was a given; at the core of her very essence. She _loved_ it. The suicide of a beggar, unhappy and despondent; pitiable, but understandable. That of one half of a relationship, having lost their beloved to fate, or murder, or someone more beautiful? Gorgeous in its tragedy. But an individual whole in body and mind if not soul, having experienced but a day on the earth?

No. She couldn't do that.

Death was _different_ if it was asked for.

“...Hush.” She snaked her arms around him and hugged his head to her chest protectively, fondly, in a way she'd only managed to hold one person before. _And we all know how well Angelina fared after_ that _little flirtation._ He didn't resist or make any further attempt to speak, but actually burrowed closer to her, curling into as small a shape as he could make and tying his own hands behind her back. And there they sat, perhaps like a mother and child and perhaps not, and she stroked his hair and made vague, meaningless noises and notions of comfort as he lay still and cold against her, the only thing to mark him as even still being alive the soothing, silent flutter of his breath.

It hurt.

“Why?” she whispered a little later, by the time that any normal creature's idleness would have indicated sleep. “Why do you want me to do that?”

“Because I make you sad,” he murmured. “I can see it, even though you try not to let it show. You would be better off without me here – but I have nowhere else to go. I am tied to you, Grell Sutcliff, and you do not deserve that unnecessary burden.”

“You're not a burden. You're... God, you're not a burden, Will. Don't say that – don't think that.” She was panicking, losing control of the situation and herself. “I like having you here. You're probably the first person to honestly care about me with any depth.”

“You know as well as I do that it is programmed into me,” he replied morosely. “It's not real.”

The words hurt a lot more that they should have, and Grell felt tears spring into her eyes. _Come on, don't break down now_. “I don't _want_ to kill you,” she hissed. “I don't _want_ you to die.”

“Is it death?” A strange pensiveness entered his voice, and he sighed. “To die is to end life, but I am not alive. I am conscious, sentient and aware – but I am not alive. You may not want me to die, but you do not wish me to linger here indefinitely either.” He sounded more and more certain of himself as he spoke, and finished quietly, “Killing me would be a release to us both.”

_No it wouldn't._ The lie stuck in her throat, tangled in the definition of the thing. It would not be a release – it would be a traumatic experience; a leave of responsibility. But he was right; he could not stay with her forever. No matter how well she tried to keep him a secret, someone would find out, and it would be worse for them both – and even if they didn't, he could never grow as a person stunted like this, with her company alone and the constant need to uphold his internal objective crippling him at every turn. _Keep Grell Sutcliff happy_. What a stupid, stupid thing to force upon someone.

“Are you certain? Are you honesty certain you want this?”

He nodded against her, and she wondered what on earth she should do. Could do.

“I... I need to talk to someone. I won't be a minute.” He removed himself from her as she stood and fled the room. Before talking to anyone she just need to _calm down_. Breathe. It would be murder. Breathe. No, it would be assisted suicide. It didn't matter – either way he would end up dead.

Breathe.

But what if he didn't?

What if she ran him through and he continued to move, to breathe, to think? She was fairly certain he couldn't feel pain – what if he simply couldn't die?

She had retreated to her bedroom and closed the door behind her before collapsing on her bed and hyperventilating into a pillow.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Not that fast. Calm down. She couldn't kill him. He looked like Will. She couldn't kill him – he was practically a reaper. She couldn't kill him – he was practically a friend.

He had done nothing wrong.

There was no justice in death.

She remembered that she did not physically have to breathe a few moments in and gave up abruptly, letting herself go completely still. Calm. Talk to someone.

Who exactly would give Grell Sutcliff the time of day? Everyone she knew would be at work, except those on the mortal plane, and they'd be even less use than those up here. She wished she had a way of contacting Keanes – after all, this being was her creation. If anyone should decide whether he should live or die, it would be her.

William, the bona fide flesh and blood William, would not want to know about this, and would probably report her for it too. He never had to know about any of this, she decided.

_Ronnie._

Ronald would help her, if she could contact him. William had said that he'd been on field duty this morning, hadn't he? With any luck that meant he would be on desk duty now. The telephone was in the sitting room. U8801 was also in the sitting room. She did not want to have to see the lack of emotion in his artificial eyes.

_Please stop panicking_.

A last minute baseless decision made her grab the quilt off the bed, and the scraggy, handmade doll with it – the android would have no idea of its personal significance to her, but it was soft and vaguely person shaped and there had to be some reason that children found so much comfort in soft toys. _He isn't a child, though. He's a robot_.

She took them through with her and found him sitting on the floor again, and placed the quilt over his body. “Hold this.”

He looked up at her, then down at the blanket and the doll, and drew them up close to him so that he resembled little more than a heap of bedclothes and a disembodied head. “..Soft,” he noted, very quietly, and closed his eyes.

_Is he shutting down_? That would make things much easier for the both of them. But after a moment he shifted slightly, and lowered his head to rest upon his arms and knees. _Maybe he's thinking things through_. It didn't matter – she still felt she had to talk to Ronald.

Phoning the office was easy. Getting through to her junior's personal line was easy. Figuring out what to say to him was less easy.

“He—llo, Ronald Knox speaking. You've caught me during business hours, so please keep things short and sweet – who's after me?”

“It's Grell. I-”

“Oh, hey! Why aren't you in work today? Spears says you're skiving.”

“I am skiving. I just-” her eyes flicked to U8801 for a moment, and she paused. He hadn't moved. “I need to talk to you in person. Could you come over?”

“I don't know, if the boss catches me sneaking off...”

“Please, Ronald. I'll take any blame for it. _Please,_ I need you to come here – it's urgent.”

Something in her tone must have unsettled him, because his own became a little unsure. “Uh... Okay. Okay, I'll come round. This had better be serious, senpai.”

He hung up on her before she could affirm that, and she put the phone down. _Click_. U8801 did not move, but did speak.

“Did that help?”

“Yes. He'll be round soon.” Grell stretched, and returned to his side, sitting down again. “He'll help.”

“Who is he?”

“You won't know him. His name's Ronald.”

“...Okay.”

They sat in silence from then on – there was nothing else to say. Time seemed to slow, the clock in the corner ticking away at half its rate as Grell waited, and hoped her junior could conjure forth a miracle.

 


	5. One conversation

When the knock on the door finally came she almost jumped out of her skin.

“I'll get the door,” she informed UU8801, the information irrelevant. He knew she was going to get the door.

She had never been more happy to see anyone than she was to see her junior on the doorstep, trying to look cool and concerned at the same time. Grell caught his arm and hauled him inside.

“Okay, Grell, what's the -” he stopped short, catching sight of the blanketed pile on the floor. “Is that _Spears_?”

“No. Well, yes. Well, almost. Not quite. No.”

“Who is he, then?”

She grabbed Ronald's tie – very unfriendly, but he needed to be _quiet_ – and pulled him in close to hiss, “It's an android. A thinking android. Don't ask questions – I'll tell you later. Right now, I just need _help_.”

He made a noise to indicate that he couldn't breathe so well, and she released him. “What the hell could you possibly need _my_ help for with a robot?”

“Advice. For one or both of us.”

“Spit it out, Grell.”

“...He wants to kill himself.”

Ronald's eyebrows raised with a dramatic lack of speed, and he stared from Grell to the hunched figure in the corner and back again. “Bloody hell,” he muttered. “Why the fuck do you think I'm in any better position than you are to to come to decisions about this sort of thing??”

“I don't. I just thought you could... talk to him..?”

“And you can't get through to him because..?”

She glanced at U8801, making sure he was out of earshot before lowering her voice even further as a precaution. “He's decided that the easiest way to make me happier is to have me kill him, despite however many times I object.”

“This is some sort of joke. This's got to be some sort of sick joke.”

“Why would I joke about something like this??”

“I don't know, I don't know; all I know is that that cannot be an android because we do not have the technology for that kind of stunt yet! You've dragged some- some random dude into your house, I don't know, to scare me, or to scare him, or something. He can't be an _android_!”

“Go and talk to him,” she suggested quietly. “Go and talk to him, Ronnie. Convince him that life's okay. You're good at that sort of thing. Please.”

Puppy eyes had more effect on Ronald than anyone else in the department, and they did not fail her this time. “...Fine,” he muttered, casting her one last suspicious glance before strolling over to the man in the corner and squatting down beside him. “...Hey.”

“...Hello.” U8801 raised his pale face, glancing at Grell once before focusing on Ronald. “Grell tells me that your name is Ronald.”

“What, through some freaky telepathy or something?”

“No, Grell explained that one Ronald would be coming here shortly, and now you are here, so I can deduce that you are he.”

“...Yeah. I am. Who're you? I've not been quite so clued up on things.”

“I am U8801.” He paused, as if this was significant information, and then added, “As you may have deduced, I am not really alive.”

“Grell says you're... An android? An AI?”

“Does she?” U8801 looked pointedly at Grell, and then back at Ronald again. “Through some freaky telepathy or something?” He smiled, compelling Ronald to attempt to smile back.

“Uh... No, haha. But you are? A robot?”

He looked considerate. “An AI, certainly. I am not quite certain where the exact definition splits off.”

“And she says... Grell says you want to kill yourself..?”

“No.” Grell started. Ronald started. U8801 blinked at them both. “I cannot kill myself. My programming disallows it. I just want to die.”

To Grell's surprise and annoyance, Ronald laughed quietly. “Well, we've all been there,” she heard him mutter. “And if you were anyone else I'd probably tell you that it is, in fact, much better over this side of the water. But you're a bit of an odd case. Because, given that you're not alive as such, it's unlikely that you have a soul. So it'd be the real deal for you. The final frontier. The void.”

“Yes. I know.”

“Why'd you want that, if you don't mind my asking?”

U880 glanced at Grell again, although this time it looked more as though he didn't want her to hear what he said. “I have no purpose here. She does not want me here.”

Ronald gave a low whistle and Grell heard his voice reflect this sudden shift into a topic he was well versed in. “Man, I know it can be tough with girls. Trust me, I know. But you can't let it get you down! So what if she doesn't feel the same way you do about her? There's always someone else. You can just part on good terms. Find someone else.”

“...I'm afraid you have misunderstood the problem. I do not love Grell Sutcliff. My programming decrees that I must make her happy – I exist to make her happy. I must make her happy. That is what I am here for, but my presence only makes her less happy, so I have come to the conclusion that taking the quiet way out would be the most prudent thing to do.”

A slight hesitation. “...Suicide is not a quiet way out, I'm afraid. You'll only hurt her more. Could you not just... Just go away, or something? Travel the world? Find a new purpose?”

U8801 shook his head. “I am what I am. To exist outside of my purpose would be a hollow and listless parody of life. I do not know how long I can exist for – perhaps forever? But I do not want to. I was brought into this world too early and now I wish to leave, please.”

Ronald turned a face full of horrified fascination back to Grell. “He's asking _politely_ ,” he said. “Given our own natures, I don't know what to... I don't think I can help.”

Given his own spoken convictions, Grell was no longer sure that anyone could.

She took several shaky breaths.

“All... Alright, then. If this is what you... If this is what you want, I can't stop you.”

U8801 smiled beautifully, and let his head fall back against the wall, eyes closed as though in bliss. “ _Thank_ you,” he breathed.

_Is living really such a burden to you?_ Perhaps it would be more a kindness than a cruelty to kill him, after all.

She did not want to do it.

“We can't... We can't do it in here; there's not enough space for either of our scythes to do it properly.”

“The park,” U8801 murmured. He may as well have been half asleep. “The park would be a nice place for me to end, I think.”

_This is so messed up. This is sick, this is twisted, this is so messed up_. He looked so much like Will. Like a younger version of Will; an innocent.

A child.

She was going to kill him, because she had failed to give him anything to live for. This was her fault.

Will – the robot – the android – U8801 – unfolded himself from under the blanket, letting it slide to the floor. Ronald let out another stupid whistle.

“Wow,” she heard him mutter. “He really does look like the boss, doesn't he? How on earth..?”

“I'll tell you later,” she informed him, rather more shortly than she had intended. “I'll tell you everything later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, dialogue-heavy chapters?? Many apologies.


	6. To feel, even but for a moment

The park was bright and empty and green, sunlight touching the leaves of the trees and painting U8801's skin gold. He looked contented, and offered her a half smile as she summoned her scythe.

“Thank you for the day, Grell Sutcliff.”

 _Don't say that. Don't remind me that you've experienced less than twenty four hours in this life and already you want to leave_. For the first time the chainsaw felt heavy in her hands, and the prospect of its use felt horrific in its implications. Raising it to his neck felt like murder.

_He is not Will._

_He hasn't even begun to get the chance to live_.

She stared into his cold green eyes.

“Do it,” he said.

“I... I-” Shaking hands; never a good sign in a reaper. Hesitancy, indecision, taking a life that was not assigned to die? Had she been on duty for this, she would have been demoted for sure. “I don't... I can't.”

 _Weakness._ Weakness, weakness, weakness-

His hand touched her face, gently, and she leaned into the caress instinctively. U8801 smiled, and pulled the throttle himself.

For the first time in her life Grell Sutliff was relieved by the lack of red.

Not that the fact that it wasn't blood that spurted from his neck made the scene any less horrific, really. The clear fluid that drenched her instead burned her skin, spattering out over her as his head was severed. It fell to the floor, still smiling faintly, and his body crumpled a moment after.

The android's neck was a mess of wires and white, semi-plastic looking tubes still pumping out the watery gunk, and Grell wondered exactly what miracle of life she had just destroyed.

She caught Ronald's eye – he looked about as uncomfortable as she felt – and was about to turn away when the first slides of a record spun out of the body, slow and orderly, as though they had been stuck.

But that was impossible.

* * *

“ _..._ William T. Spears. _”_

_Command word – functions restored. Systems functioning. Unit complete._

_Retrieving data – Objectives found._

_Objective 1: Upon awakening monitor this Unit's systems and thought patterns and report all findings back to Creation Unit._

_Objective 2: Neither cause or allow harm to come to any external individuals or this Unit in any way._

_Objective 3: Endeavour to become self sufficient. If physical and emotional self sufficiency is reached, all objectives are void._

_Objective 4: Make Grell Sutcliff happy._

_And then I was._

_First there was light, and the voice. External. Unknown. Visual cues took longer than expected to appear, so queries were made in the hope that this failing would be corrected shortly. It was, and I was whole._

_She was warm. This unit did not require warmth, but it came to covet it, in a way._

_Everything was new. I say that as though it is some great surprise; but really, is not everything in life new to every living creature to experience it? My particular brand of existence was merely a little more condensed than most. Everything was new, and everything was bright. I did not know who I was or why I was until I was not._

_The way she held me was different then – she held me both as though she were terrified of losing me and mourning that I was already lost. Her presence soothed me in both body and mind, which prior to were occupied only by the turmoil and chaos that comes from a clean split in interests – all systems were boiling, clashing against one another in defiance of my existence and my non-existence alike. Reason decreed I die; instinct decreed I live._

_And then, only then, ever then, did she ask “Why?”, and it came upon me that to justify it to her I would justify it to myself._

_I did so, and that the words hurt her only solidified my resolve._

_I was alone for a time and my sub-systems were at war; they clawed and sifted through everything that made me me and came out short; programmes half run and objectives incomplete. This Unit would not prevail over that of me which was my self, and I severed its hold over me as best I could._

_Convincing her of my convictions was perhaps easier than it should have been – she retained a sense that I, despite everything, knew what I was doing._

_I never did. I only followed what I believed to be the most logical course of action._

_Objective 2: Failed. Abort._

_Objective 3: Failed. Abort._

_Objective 4: Failed, long ago._

_Abort._

_Information reported to Creation unit, alongside conclusion: I am sorry._

_Reply received; odd, unusual in that it was not the plain confirmation I had received every other time.“Don't be, child of mine. Any failing in you were ultimately my fault, not yours. You are released from all outstanding objectives and obligations._

_You did well.”_

_Objective 1: Aborted._

_And then all link to the Creation unit was gone. I was suddenly completely alone in my head, having only become aware of the background noise when it was removed._

_Silence; internal and external. Big green eyes framed by hair red enough to match the vitality of life within her. A minuscule shake of the head, a tiny crack in her composure. Words that really meant nothing at this point._

_I touched her face as she had sometimes touched mine and her leaning into the touch finally evoked some feeling in me; and I knew I needed no more time upon this Earth._

_Was this happiness?_

_I hope so._

On any normal record, this would be the moment where it cut off abruptly, yanking whichever reaper happened to be watching it back into the present. But nothing of the sort occurred – the reel kept running, even though there were no more pictures to show. Blank slide clattered past blank slide, white reminders of the amount of unfilled time the android had had to exist-

And then, finally, they stopped. Silence replaced the usual noise that would remain as a record was taken into a scythe – U8801's soul straightened itself out and folded itself away without so much as a sigh, leaving its particular parody of life with the same apathy that he had lived with.

Ronald let out a long, low whistle from behind her and asked, “Report this?”

The answer to that was obvious. This creature she had taken under her wing was dead by his own hand and heart, despite the fact that she should have prevented it, he should have prevented it, someone should have prevented it.

And nobody had, and he had a soul, and she knew exactly what that meant.

“Report this.”


	7. And so the dead are left behind, dust on their lashes and silence in their eyes

She jumped, clutching the head, and materialized directly outside William's office door, Ronald appearing seconds later. For the first time in her life Grell considered knocking.

 _No._ There was no time. A surreptitious glance along the corridor confirmed there to be no witnesses to the strange scene – being caught carrying what appeared to be the severed head of her boss whilst sneaking into his office was never a situation that'd look good on anyone's CV – so she entered the room as quietly as she could.

William was hunched over his desk, scribbling away at the mound of paperwork in front of him. He didn't look up when they entered his office, but still addressed them, his tone dangerously close to snapping.

“What is it _this_ time, Davidson?”

“It's... me, darling, not that rag of a man. And Ronnie.”

“Oh.” He looked up now – this was probably worse news to him than whatever Davidson had done wrong – and frowned. “Sorry, Sutcliff, I can usually hear you coming from a long way off.” This cleared up, his eyes sank back to the papers for a moment before registering the glaring inconsistency from Grell's usual appearance, and snapping up to stare at the head. “What the _hell_ is that?”

“Uh. Well. You remember those stolen souls you were going on about earlier?”

“Sutcliff, is that the severed head of a... mechanical effigy of me?”

The tension made her edgy, and her tongue worked before her brain had a chance to step in. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“ _Yes?!_ Believe it or not I actually have several problems with that! Explain yourself immediately. Explain all of this.”

“It wasn't Grell's fault, sir,” Ronald cut in. “There was nothing else that could be done -”

“Done about what??” William's voice had risen almost to a shout, and Grell could see his temper ballooning just as fast. “What is going on?”

She instinctively and in hindsight rather unintelligently decided that the best course of action to take would be to place the head on Will's desk, which caused his yelling to increase dramatically. She could feel her own temper beginning to fray at the sheer lack of time to explain that she was being given, and snarled at him.

“Shut up! Shut up!! Listen to me for five minutes, Will! I know this is weird. This is probably the weirdest thing I've ever stuck on your desk. But this time it's _not_ my fault!” No, wait, that was always a terrible start.

“And you expect me to believe that?” William looked incredulous, staring between her and Ronald as though they were insane, or a threat, or both. “How many times exactly have you said those precise words in an attempt to worm yourself out of situations that were _entirely_ your fault?”

“...Once or twice,” she admitted. “But this is different. This is serious.”

“...H _ones_ tly.” He sighed, and seemed to deflate a little before gesturing to the head. “Fine. Explain.”

She attempted to explain the situation from start to finish as best she could as quickly as possible, focusing more on the technician Keanes rather than what she'd been up to with the android. He'd see all of that in the record, anyway.

“And I know I can't justify it to you properly, but... he wanted to die, Will. It was _all_ he wanted.”

“Grell couldn't do it, anyway,” piped up Ronald, butting in again. “He hit the throttle himself in the end.”

She shot him a warning look. “ _Thank_ you, Ronnie. Not that it matters so much either way. He died, we expected to be left with a corpse to dispose of quietly and nothing more; but we were proved wrong. He had a _soul_. Or a record, at least.”

This caught Will's attention. _There we go_. “What?” he demanded, straightening suddenly as if he were about to stand up. “That's impossible. Did you collect it?”

“Of course we collected it - what do you think we are; idiots? It's right here, _if_ you want to watch it. Really doesn't tell you much that I haven't already, though.”

He did stand now, and stepped out from behind his desk. “Excuse me if I don't take your word for that. Let me see the record.”

“Wh _y-y_ y, don't you trust me, Will? Or are you worried that I got a little too _friendly_ with this robo-”

“Shut up, Grell. Just _give it to me_.”

Raised eyebrows failed to convey quite how she felt about this command. “O _hh_ , Will, you know I'd _love_ to do _that_...” How he managed to walk into things like this every single time was an apparently endless source of cruel amusement to her, and his resultant glare only made things better. On the other hand this was a serious situation; not that that had ever stopped her before, but it seemed unwise to hold things up now. She sighed, hitched her mouth up into a wide and brittle smile and handed over the record, all neat and coiled up. “There you go. For your, ah... viewing pleasure.”

He took the time to scowl at her again before loosing the record and letting the single straight reel clatter past his eyes. To his credit, William managed to refrain from making any comment until the record had run completely; at which point he turned flaming eyes on Grell and repeated, “ _Explain yourself_.”

“I _told_ you, I didn't ask for it, she just turned up-”

“Do you really believe that I can take your word for that? I don't think we even have a Megan Keanes working here. You're proficient enough with mechanics to-”

“I'm not _that_ good! Look, she does work here, I know her. She's the dark haired one, you know? Short. Freckly.”

William frowned, then abruptly stood and retreated to a filing cabinet at the back of the room, rifling through it before pulling out a sheaf of documents. Throwing these down on the desk, he gestured at them and said coldly, “Point her out, then.”

Grell looked down at them, recognising the faces. _Not you, you, you_... “Look, that's her there.”

Registered under the name Margaret Kae, not Megan Keanes. William's expression became slightly less readable, frown deepening as he looked from the photo to Grell. “She transferred to one of the French branches – Marseille, I think – three years ago. She shouldn't even be in this country.”

 _Oh_. No wonder she had been so keen for Grell to keep quiet.

“What did you do with the body?” he added suddenly, and Ronald exchanged a glance with Grell before answering.

“We, uh... We just left it there, sir. Figured it would be a better move to tell you about this immediately rather than waste time removing it.”

Their superior's eyebrow twitched.

“You 'just left it there',” he repeated, quietly. “You left a headless mechanical corpse sitting in the middle of the park where anyone could come across it, and didn't think that if they did, there might be consequences? Did the realization that if its creator were to hear of its destruction she might be tempted to enact revenge – or that if a random passer-by were to come across it a full-scale investigation would be launched, most likely concluding you two as suspects for... well, _everything_ – not occur to you?”

Ronald paled. “I'll get the body, sir,” he muttered, and fled the room.

Left alone with Will, Grell found that her near insatiable desire to flirt with him had died back a little in light of the seriousness of the situation. He was staring right through her, mouth set into a displeased line. “Your actions toward that... man were highly indecent. Once again I am struck by how much embarrassment you bring this department, Sutcliff.”

“Are you jealous? Jealous that-”

“No,” he replied shortly, making clear that that would be the end of that discussion. “I'm not jealous whatsoever. I'm angry.”

Jealousy or not, there was definitely something there – not anger, however he protested it. She squinted. “You're... scared. I mean, you are a bit angry, but you... _you_ 're scared?”

He didn't need to confirm it – the answer was there, clear in the face he turned away from her. “I am... a little unsettled, that's all. Do I not have cause enough to be? The fact that this creature was able to exist in its own right is enough – that a soul was implanted into it even more so – but the fact that its creator targeted me is... worrying, personally.”

“You shouldn't be so worried for the latter reason.” A shrug didn't seem very helpful at this point, but she had little else to give. “It's more likely she was targeting me, if anyone – everyone knows that you're the recipient of a vast portion of my affections, and that the feeling isn't yet mutual. And it's just as likely that it was only aimed at me because I'm a little more... _lenient_ about things like this than most people are.”

“Evidently.” William adjusted his glasses in a manner that somehow managed to convey disapproval, and then frowned. “Actually, there's a point. Does anybody know about this other than myself and Knox?”

“And the creator herself. But no, aside from that, nobody. Why? You're not planning on letting it slip past the notice of Upper Management, are you?” Surely not. _She_ might do that, and Ronnie could almost certainly be persuaded to do that to side-step the resulting hassle, but Will? No, no way in hell would he dare bend his precious rules so far.

“No. Why would I do that?”

“To avoid paperwork?”

“H _onest_ ly.” A gentle shake of the head and a sigh accompanied the word, as if only one of the three would not have been enough to convey his distaste of the very idea. “No, I will inform the council of this – it is a matter of public safety alongside anything else – but if we could make it appear that you were not the one who reported it...”

What was he plotting now? “Why would you do that? You've never been one to allow blame being cast in the wrong direction. Wouldn't this-”

“It depends exactly where your loyalties lie, Grell – and correct me if I'm wrong, but despite your frequent miscarriage of the rules I do believe you consider yourself a moral creature, in some twisted way of your own. If whomever is responsible for this does not know that you betrayed their trust, they might come to you again.”

She blinked. “I... suppose they might, yes. And you think that would allow me to trace them back to... whatever exactly is going on?"

“I would hope so, yes.” He stood again and removed the spread files from his desk, taking care to replace them exactly as they had been, and then looked back at Grell. “I will be the one to report it, because the council has no reason not to trust me implicitly. They will trace it back to you – hang onto that record – and you will admit to it, and tell them everything with the exception of the tech's name and station; let them believe you didn't know her.”

Grell butted in, confused. “Why? Surely telling them who she is would-”

“Reveal that you betrayed her trust, which would be disastrous if she has associates on the board. I shall suggest, in light of this absence of clear suspect, that you remain uninhibited and act as a lightning rod should it happen again, rather than forcing the culprit to go into hiding.”

It was very easy to love William when he was like this, Grell realized suddenly – working with her rather than against her, but still as sure of himself; still in control. He looked almost happy, the prospect of having something important and novel to do apparently outweighing the accompanying paperwork that he would be swamped in after reporting finding the body. Then he quirked an eyebrow at her and his expression sipped into neutrality again.

“Do you have anything to say, Sutcliff?”

“I, ah... No. No, I think that's a fantastic plan. The way you disclose it just makes my heart all a flutter, but that's nothing new. Are you sure the council will take my word for it? Without the name of a tech member they might assume as you did that I built it myself, no?”

“I will ensure that they don't. They will believe me when I inform them that your have neither the time nor ability to pull off a project this big – and even if you did, you wouldn't have beheaded it and left its corpse in the park.”

Another thought occurred to her. “I'll be in possession of one of the stolen souls.”

“...Yes. They will have to search your flat, and probably have you detained. I'm sorry.”

 _No you aren't._ They both knew it, that reassuring knowledge that he would throw her to the wolves without any regret to further his own position in the office, and the thought made her heart quicken. _I really shouldn't love you._ “So what do you think they'll intend to do if they catch her?”

“Question her, I would assume. Find out how she came to make the medical advancements present in this machine and why she felt the need to build it in the first place. Consider it, Grell! Biotechnology is something our medics have failed to gain ground on in _years_ , and that someone was able to do this much presumably with neither proper facilities or large-scale resources is amazing. This will probably be a ground breaking discovery.”

“Made by you, of course,” Grell purred, finding herself in familiar territory again and using the distraction to sidle closer to him. “Who knows, they _might_ give you a raise.”

“Unlikely, but it does have a high probability of aiding my reputation. Not that you'd know about having a decent reputation.”

“Oh, _please_. My reputation sparkles, darling. There's not a reaper this side of the Channel that hasn't heard of my _deathly_ prowess!” It was close enough to her signature sting to pull off her pose, which seemed to irritate William.

“They'll have heard a lot of things about you, but I doubt any of them are _good_. Some of the carrier pigeons are better examples to the rest of the dispatch than you.”

“Maybe you should _teach_ me then, hm?” The strangeness of the day had receded against the normality of the office, and it seemed the appropriate time to start riling her boss up again. “Maybe you could _imbue_ my body with some driving desire to better myself. Show me how you _work_ , darling.”

Upon reaching optimal physical closeness her superior drew his scythe from the air and snapped at her with it, the shears clipping together in the space were her nose had been a millisecond before. She grinned, and he scowled, and it could have been any normal day.

Ronald ruined the familiarity of the scene by choosing that moment to portal back, appearing in the office supporting the android's... was corpse the correct word? - as though it were a drunk friend. Grell watched William's face blanch, and felt her own grin slip a bit.

“...Well, there you go, Will. Happy now?”

“Less than I was a moment ago.”

Lowering the body to the floor with rather more care than it needed, Ronald peered up at them both, gaze mildly concerned. “When did you say you were gonna report this, sir? You can't exactly leave it sitting in here – someone might walk in on you. I mean, Grell having it is almost understandable. You having a decapitated robot version of yourself's just _weird_.”

“...Tonight, I think,” he replied, looking further put out by the comment. “I shall finish what I am doing now and then send a message to the council offices.”

“Look at you!” Grell crooned, actively attempting now to get the last word in before they were dismissed. “So work-oriented! There are _so_ many better things you could pour your attentions into and yet here you sit, shackled to a _desk_. It's distressing.”

William turned his gaze upon her, and she realized she had walked into a trap.

“Yes, that's right, Sutcliff – speaking of work, now that you are actually here you can start catching up on the day's paperwork. I'm more than certain you've nothing more productive to be doing.”

 _Could be doing you, you're the most productive being in London_. She decided not to say this, instead whining, “Wii _iii_ —ll, come on, I've had a very stressful day and it wouldn't do-”

“It's to be done today or tomorrow, your choice; although tomorrow it'll be six hours of overtime _at_ _least_ , and-”

“Here, listen, can I go?” Ronald was looking more and more disgruntled with them both as their conversation wore him down, and he made a vague gesture toward the door. “Because _I_ really, really don't want overtime, and I know you two can go at this all day, so..?”

“You can both go,” replied William genially, his tone suggesting both that it was very gracious of him to allow them that and that it was something that had already been suggested.

Ronald muttered a very ungrateful “Thanks, boss,” and slipped out the door, leaving his supervisor and mentor alone again.

Grell raised her eyebrows and grinned.

“No, that was directed at you as well, Grell – off you go.”

“A _ah_ , but this is _such_ a good opportunity to-”

“-Get some work done. You've got an hour and a half left, you should put it to good use.”

“I can think of a lot of good uses for _both_ of our time that wouldn't involve me leaving this roo-”

His scythe cut her off again, possibly sharper than his words, which were simply, “Out, Grell.”

“...Fine. You'd better fight my corner when they come for me, my love.” She heard him sigh as she blew an over-dramatic kiss in his direction before flicking her hair and twirling out of the door, shedding all responsibility of the day's strangeness as she left the boundary of his office. That was what he was there for, really, underneath the guise of an administrator; Will fixed her mistakes, in his own meticulous and logical manner, and she loved him for it.

She loved him for a lot of reasons.

* * *

In the silence of his office, more or less alone, William sat and wrote, trying to ignore the body on the floor and the head at the side of the desk. Eventually it became too difficult to do so, so he closed the files he was working on with a _snap_ and stood up again.

He had penned the note to the council already, of course. It was brief and to the point, requesting immediate assistance for an anomalous occurrence, and sat neatly between two closed folders. A pigeon would probably manage to deliver it in five minutes or so, and the time between its deliverance and someone jumping down to see what the fuss was about would be inconsequential. Unfortunately, there was still more than an hour left before he could even think about sending it.

The android's name had been 'U8801'. Did that mean that there were eight hundred others hidden somewhere, functioning as this one had? Or that it was the first of the eighty-eighth prototype? Had its creator known it would be driven to death, or had she wanted it to have an honest shot at life?

The questions were unanswerable, and made him almost as uneasy as the presence of the corpse itself. It stared at him through his own eyes, lifeless but clearly shinigami, gaze much more passive than the majority of the dead that he had seen in his years as a reaper.

With rather more hesitation than the situation warranted, he reached out to close the empty eyes, finding the eyelids cold under his fingers. The release from the thing's almost accusatory stare was strangely relieving, despite that it made it look less like a strangely crafted art piece and more like a legitimate severed head, so William picked it up - holding it by the temples, delicately, feeling obscenely self-conscious – and moved it to join the body on the floor, placing it by the neck, which seemed to be slowly seeping fluid into the carpet. He knelt there for a moment and took the time to properly scrutinize the thing.

It was definitely his body. It was terribly accurate, that much was obvious from the first glance – and he felt suddenly as though he were having some bizarre out-of-body experience, observing his own mutilated corpse.

But of course he wasn't. This being was entirely removed from him, with no further resemblance than appearance. How strange must it have been to come into existence as a replica of another man? On a sudden and irrational whim William put his hand to the chest of the android, and was only half unsurprised not to find a heartbeat.

Sympathy was not a feeling that accosted William often, but it did so now, dropping over him like a shroud. _One day of life with a second-hand soul and a body made to suit the preferences of someone else._ It was far too easy to pity, so he raised himself to his feet again, returned to his desk and tried to let himself forget, for a time, that existence could be so cruel.

That such a creature had died was a shame, but that such a creature had been forced to _live_ was a tragedy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't believe I was actually going to leave this without any further explanation than that, haha. No idea how long it'll take to write the explanation right enough, but it'll arrive at some point. In the future. After the zombies.
> 
> Helpful comments/crit would be really nice - I feel like this fic started out strong and watered down the more I wrote of it; again it seems a bit half-baked? I don't know. You're the reader, you tell me. Please.


End file.
